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She decided to carry it in front.
There was a good-sized rock near, upon which she stepped, leading Sage King
alongside; and after an exceedingly trying moment she got up, holding the
pack. For a wonder Sage King behaved well.
Then she started off, holding the pack across her lap, and she tried the
King's several gaits to see which one would lend itself more comfortably to
the task before her. The trouble was that Sage King had no slow gait, even his
walk was fast. And Lucy was compelled to hold him into that. She wanted to
hurry, but that seemed out of the question. She tried to keep from gazing out
toward the monuments, because they were so far away.
How would she find the crippled rider? It flashed into her mind that she might
find him dead, and this seemed horrible. But her common sense persuaded her
that she would find him alive and better. The pack was hard to hold, and Sage
King fretted at the monotonous walk. The hours dragged. The sun grew hot. And
it was noon, almost, when she reached the point where she cut off the trail to
the left.


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